


Graveyards

by HPheadgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depressing, Gen, Ghosts, Harry Potter - Freeform, Past Character Death, Sad, Spirits, graveyard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 00:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12494308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPheadgirl/pseuds/HPheadgirl
Summary: A collection of one-shots of Harry visiting his parents' graves.





	Graveyards

The crack of apparition, piercing the silence of the night.

The howl of a lone wolf, far off in the distance.

The abrupt snap of a branch, and the squelching sound of damp leaves.

The smell of the dark, musty woods of pine and birch.

It was Halloween in Godric's Hollow.

 

Many people were trick-or-treating with their families, their laughter echoing in the darkness. Grinning Jack-O-Lanterns flickered on rows of porches while happy children knocked on doors and collected candy.

Magical folk in the Wizarding World celebrated the holiday (which they referred to as All Hallows' Eve,) with plentiful, mouthwatering feasts and sugary concoctions. Thousands of Wizarding families also lit candles to honor the day that the dark wizard Voldemort was defeated on October 31st of 1981. Ever since, it had been tradition to commemorate the famed occasion.

 

On this historical anniversary, while countless muggles and wizards alike danced and chattered with merriment, not all were cheery and bright.

In fact, if you were to enter the small, thriving town of Godric's Hollow, where the first Wizarding World War ended, and if you happened to venture into the moonlit graveyard, you would find such a person; a small child walking among the tombstones.

It was a peculiar place for a child to be when he should've been out with his friends, but upon closer observation, he seemed to be strangely at peace among the resting place of the dead. Even if you didn't know the boy, the dark-haired youth with the striking green eyes would have seemed inexplicably other-worldly and fascinating. Of course, in the Wizarding World he was known quite well indeed after his parents were brutally slaughtered on that very day by Lord Voldemort, and he was the last one standing, with a lightning bolt scar as his only souvenir of being a victim of the infamous dark wizard. 

Ever since that day, Harry Potter had been pegged the savior of the Wizarding World, when he was barely a year old.  

 

The now-eleven-year-old Harry walked at a leisurely pace, simultaneously scanning the plots. After about ten minutes, he came to a sudden stop. Harry had finally found the object of his visit: The white marble slab that was the tombstone of his parents. He sank down to his knees and reverently traced their names, engraved in the beautiful craftsmanship,  

 James Potter - BORN 27 MARCH 1960 - DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981

Lily Potter - BORN 30 JANUARY 1960 - DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981. 

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

 

Wait- what? What exactly did that mean? But soon Harry was distracted once again, and with a shuddering gasp, he looked straight ahead.

In front of him, captured forever in stone, were statues of the late James and Lily Potter. He stared intently at their life-like memorial, and even more so at the tiny baby that was cradled in their arms. The Potters' unmoving eyes gazed at the infant with such love that they seemed to mock him, tempting him with things he could never have.

 

When Harry was younger and thought his parents had died in a car crash, he used to fantasize that some long-lost relative or old friend of his parents' would save him from the hell that was the Dursley residence and the occupants of the aforementioned house.  

Now, he daydreamed about what his life would have been like if Lord Voldemort hadn't killed his parents, or even better, if he had never even existed. But those dreams were more like nightmares, because whenever he came back to reality, he was faced with the crushing truth: dreams were just that, dreams, illusions of the ideal that would never come true. And that was too painful to deal with. 

If only there really was some wonderful alternate universe he could visit whenever it got too hard, whenever he needed an escape from his life. But there wasn't, and Harry knew he needed to shove on his mask that he used in front of everyone else and man up. After all, it was all about self-preservation, and Harry liked to believe that after a decade of living with the Dursleys, he'd gotten quite skilled at it. 

 

When Harry was younger, he saw the luxury and love that Dudley's parents gave him, and he did anything he could to possibly be able to deserve even the smallest portion of the lavish attention he so desperately craved. 

Now Harry Potter was eleven years old. He knew better than to expect any decent treatment, or, God forbid, acceptance and love. So he locked up any evidence of desiring such trivial things. But now, seeing exactly what he was missing out on, seeing the proof that his parents were indeed, dead and gone, his so carefully crafted mask was ripped off mercilessly. 

He reached deep inside himself and remembered every time he felt unloved and worthless, and what started as one tear turned into rivers pouring down his face as he looked at what could have been and what he lost. 

 

As he remembered his filthy cupboard, being bullied by Dudley, and being struck by Uncle Vernon and shrieked at by Aunt Petunia, Harry was startled to come across new recollections, some of his only happy memories that had apparently been locked deep in his mind, seeing his dad throw him in the air while he giggled, watching his mum tickle him as he tried to squirm out her grasp, clearly enjoying the game. 

The dam broke. For the first time in years, Harry allowed himself to feel. He sobbed and cried hoarsely until there were no tears left. He felt sadness, for seeing the future that could've been his, that was rightfully his, and anger at Voldemort for snatching that hope away from him. He felt happiness, knowing that he was at least allowed to see his parents' grave, and reveling in the amazing thought that James and Lily Potter really did love him.

 

After what seemed like hours, with one final, shaky sob, Harry Potter finally found the strength to use the tombstone to push himself to his feet. 

Hastily, he dug out two plain, white candles from his robes and lit them. Harry placed them on each side of the tombstone, and next to the candles he dug small holes, where he planted white lilies in honor of his mother, and to also symbolize the innocence and purity that has been restored to the soul of the departed. 

Harry spared one last tear for his parents, which dropped on the previously barren ground, and then carefully put his mask back in place,  and proceeded to activate his Portkey back to Hogwarts.


End file.
